The haunting of the silence

 

In still night

the silence stalks.

No one stirs, no one talks.

The frigid air, stifles sound,

there is no noise,

or wind smashing round,

no pindrop

crashing

to the ground,

just the death of

noise, the end

of the

loud.

 

So what is that...

 

The silence thinks,

shivering icicles

into streetlight beams,

shimmering the night

with unaired screams.

 

The stomach

of silence

churning

still,

for in her heart

she feels the chill,

the unavoidable fear

that lingers close,

when the soul

is walked upon

by a long dead ghost.

 

For she hears it too...

 

Just below the silence,

the empty sentence

in the air, a sentience,

that shouldn't move,

a plinking piano key,

discordant agony,

The freeze and go,

freeze and go.

As the clock ticks,

stops,

then tocks

slow.

 

The gentle buzz,

chaos mushed

memories, fuzz

with hurt, crushed

in tormenting rage,

the brushing

torrential rain

of night, pelting

her smashed

cage. In pain.

The words rush

 

-its name-

 

scribed,

then scribbled,

hurriedly from the page.

 

For the haunting

of the silence,

is the Hums

domain.